


This is Not a Zebra

by landahoymateys



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accountant!Castiel, Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Magic, Missed Opportunity, Time Travel, pining!Castiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:29:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/landahoymateys/pseuds/landahoymateys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel wakes up one day and his terribly unidyllic lifestyle as a lonely tax accountant has changed. By mysterious forces he has been transformed back into his teenage self and is forced to relive his teenage years. He has a second chance to change things, but what can he change? How will it affect his current life? What will happen when he faces the object of his old affections?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If It's Not a Zebra, Is It a Curse?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is something I started working on over the summer while I was avoiding finishing my DC bigbang. I had originally posted it to fanfiction.net with the joke title "This is Not a Zebra", because it was an untitled fic and I'd saved it to my desktop as simply "zebra" so that I'd remember what it is. The title kind of stuck. I'm not sure if/when I'll get around to finishing this, but I thought I'd post it here cause I'm a lot more likely to finish it if it's here.

Castiel awoke to a blaring alarm and promptly ignored it, rolling over with a grunt. As the beeps began to increase in volume he sandwiched his head between his two pillows. This continued for ten minutes before Castiel could no longer take it and rolled over and promptly fell off his full size bed. He grunted with the impact. His bed had never felt too small for just him before. He slammed the button on the alarm clock and pulled himself up to prepare for his day of work.

He drank his coffee black because he couldn't bring himself to start his mediocre day with something he might actually enjoy. He sat at his cubicle of 256 Main st. where he worked as a tax accountant for Milton & Brothers. Castiel typed away on his keyboard, filling out endless reports and paperwork. For the first two years he worked with the company he was happy enough to be an obedient worker monkey, or happy might not be the proper word for it, but he was content. Now, however, he was too soaked in the company blood to ignore his own unhappiness. The company rested in the upper east side of the city and it catered to the upper class clientele. Castiel was pulled from his reverie by his secretary, Rachel, tapping her pen at the wall of his cubicle. “Do you have time for a consultation?” 

Castiel sighed, “I guess so, send them in.”

A few minutes later an older woman with messy dreadlocks and old laugh lines creased between her eyes sat down in front of Castiel. She laid a bunch of folders onto Castiel's desk. “Mr. Novak right? My name's Missouri. Now I've been doing my own taxes for years but I just need a little help now seeing as I can barely read the numbers straight on the pages...”

Castiel bit his lip considering, before even opening the folders he could tell that the woman couldn't afford the pricey surcharges the company forced on its clientele. “Miss Missouri, please, call me Castiel.” He slowly opened the folders to examine the contents. 

Missouri smiled warmly at him, and he just couldn't do it. This damn job, this fucking company, and his whole god damn life. He slammed the folder shut and returned Missouri's smile, “Please don't take offense to my saying this, but I don't think you belong here.” Missouri gave him a startled look but didn't interrupt. “There's this place down on 5th avenue that will give you a free consultation.” 

Missouri smiled more widely at him, “Thank you son. You're a good man. She took the papers into her arm and stood to go, but stopped on her way out of the cubicle, turning a sly smile on Castiel. “If you want to change it all you gotta do is try.” Castiel didn't recognize the smile she gave him, but he returned hers with a wry one.

After work that day Castiel decided he wanted to get drunk, very drunk. The old woman's words kept ringing in his ears as he sat at the bar, a glass of amber before him. He tapped it on the polished wood- change? Change what? How? Isn't that the problem.... Castiel didn't begin to question that she had somehow known he was miserable and commanded him to change his life. He was tired, he hated his job, and he was lonely, so fucking lonely. He took a swig from his glass. How does he change it? Where would he even start? Castiel was never good at meeting people. He sometimes wondered if he had a homing beacon that sent out negative messages like 'Do not approach' and 'I am not worth your time.' By the time Castiel crashed back into his bed he was fantastically drunk and expecting a wicked hangover. 

****

Castiel woke in an all too familiar bed, a painfully familiar bed. His head was throbbing from the hangover that was threatening to overtake him. His alarm was beeping, but not the usual insistent increasingly loud chirps but more of a low hum, it too sounded way too painfully familiar. His eyes slowly slipped open to reveal a white ceiling with little green stars scattered throughout it in random patterns. Now his eyes were bugging out. He whipped his head up far too fast, causing a throbbing pain to split down his temple, but it didn't matter because he was in fact in the bedroom of his childhood home. He glanced at the humming alarm clock beside him, the time 6:30 blinked in red letters. TOO FUCKING EARLY. He must be dreaming, he really must be. This wasn't possible. Alcohol induced hallucinations brought on by weird conversations by psychic old ladies promising better things. But even if he could change his life, as the woman had promised, he certainly wouldn't want to be stuck back at his father's house. 

He finally slammed a fist onto the old alarm clock, causing it to tumble over. His arm seized in front of his eyes and he stared down at it, holy fuck. It was much thinner, paler, YOUNGER, he suddenly realized, than what it should be. He jumped out of his bed, his CHILDHOOD bed, and ran to the mirror he knew would be posted on the back of his closet. Sure enough his 17 year old self was staring back at himself. He began to hyperventilate, and than wretch, he quickly ran to the very familiar bathroom across the hall and vomited into the porcelain palace. WHY? WHY? WHY!?! His head was throbbing. He fished some advil out of the medicine cabin and swallowed them with a slurp out of the sink faucet. Of all the places, all the times.... How was this possible? He must be dreaming, right? He had made it out of this life, out of this house, HE ESCAPED. 

Castiel found his way back to his childhood bedroom and flung himself onto his bed, willing himself back to sleep so he could wake up and everything would be back to the way it should be; crappy job, mediocre apartment with beige walls, loneliness, bad coffee- all of it, just to be away from this painful place, these painful memories. A soft buzzing came from the bedside table, unlike that of the alarm clock. Castiel cocked one eye open, it was a cell phone. Not his, well it was his, but the one he had when he was 18. Out of curiosity he pulled it to himself, maybe it could answer some questions... 

He flipped it open and stared at the text on the screen From Dean W: U up sleepyhead? B there in 10. 

A lump got caught in his throat. He knew exactly who Dean W was. Dean Winchester, fuck he hadn't thought of that name in years... Fuck that wasn't even true. He thought of it all the time actually. As a matter of fact he'd even looked it up SEVERAL times. He looked it up enough to know that he was now living in San Francisco with his younger brother Sam Winchester. He owned a small autorepair garage and his brother worked as a lawyer. Their father had passed away 6 years ago. Of all the times Castiel had looked up that name he had never ever called. He had even gotten as far as typing the number into his dialpad but could never hit send. 

Castiel stared at the text in silent horror, and than made up his mind. He closed the cell phone, quietly putting it on the tabletop beside him and slammed his head back into the pillow with a force hard enough that he hoped it would knock him out. But it was just a pillow, so of course it didn't. 

Several minutes later he heard a car horn outside, a horn he was very well acquainted with. Castiel jumped up in shock. There was no way this was just a dream. He felt his heart pounding impossibly fast in his chest as he rushed to his closet for clean clothes to put on. He heard a car door slam shut in the distant outdoors. There was a slow pounding of footsteps, and a door wrenching open (his front door, he realized with dread). He pulled a clean t-shirt on and fished around for a pair of jeans. There was heavy footsteps on the stairs. He shimmied out of his pajama bottoms and pulled his jeans on just as his bedroom door swung open. 

Standing in his doorway was a grinning man with eyes too impossibly green, freckles softening his sharp cheekbones, plump lips, all so ageless it made Castiel's heart stop. He wanted to sob with how perfect this young man that he's tried so hard to forget looks. “Ready to go yet Cas?” Dean Winchester asked him with a soft affection he'd always kept for Castiel alone. Castiel just gaped at him, unsure of how he got here, unsure of what to say, unsure of what god to thank for giving him another look at this beautiful man.


	2. If It's Not a Zebra, Is It Hell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some homophobic language in this chapter.

"I... umm... no?" he gaped at the man before him- he hadn't age a single day, or rather it was as if Castiel had woken up in his high school dreams. Although usually in these fantasies he was naked, and Dean had a lot less clothes on too.

Dean grinned at his awkwardness, "Come on dude, shake a leg. Gotta get Sam to school on time." Castiel just stared at him as Dean collected his backpack and started shoving random books into it.

Before Castiel could really register what he was doing he reached out and grabbed a hold of Dean's arm. Dean was like a magnet and his center of gravity was drawing Castiel in and he couldn't help but reach out and touch. Dean looked at him questioningly "Cas?" He was clearly concerned at his best friend's unusual behavior.

"I uh... I'm not feeling so good. I think I'm going to stay home." There was no way he was going to spend all day in high school- he'd left that world behind a long time ago.

Dean furrowed his brow and stared at his best friend. "Dude you okay? You never stay home from school Cas." Dean placed the back of his hand on Castiel's forehead and the contact sent shivers down his spine. It had been a long time since he'd been Cas and he'd spent a long time compartmentalizing and sublimating those feelings. With one look at Dean he felt his reservations crumbling and at one touch he felt himself gravitating towards Dean till his nose was pressed into his shoulder. He didn't stop and think or consider the consequences of his actions. He couldn't remember whether or not this intimate touch was 'ok' for their relationship or not. All he could think about was Dean's smell enveloping him and the security that once offered.

Dean gently pushed back on his shoulder "Woah dude, we talked about this, personal space remember? You get so clingy when you're not feeling well." Castiel fell back as if stung. Even though Dean's words were spoken with affection they still left him with nerves reeling. Dean studied his face and Cas couldn't help dropping his sight to the ground, dejected. He remembered how he would always look Dean head on and they would often stare into one another's eyes in a way that Cas had often mistaken as lovingly. He felt as though his refusal to meet Dean's eyes now might be a giveaway that he did not quite belong, that he was not the Cas that Dean held affections for. And yet he could not bring himself to meet Dean's eyes. The old burn that lived in his heart still met him in those eyes. "Cas? You ok buddy? Are you really not feeling well?"

Castiel bit his lip. He didn't want to have to face down high school again. He remembered it as being- painful. But he couldn't help but want to spend this time with Dean. He felt as though this could be another chance, he wasn't quite sure what that woman had meant or how he could change things, but he wanted to spend time with Dean. He wanted so much. He smiled slightly as he finally allowed himself to look at Dean. He was still beautiful to Castiel's older mind. He didn't usually find himself attracted to teenagers, but being back in his own teenage body was as if all the adolescent hormones had returned.

He smiled sweetly at Dean, averting his eyes shyly, "I think I'll be ok."

Dean grinned "Good, than let's shake a leg. Sam's waiting." Dean shouldered his backpack and grabbed him by the arm- dragging him down the stairs and out the door.

The house looked so familiar, so many bad memories, mixed in with brief moments of happiness floating in those halls. Cas briefly thought about his father- if everything was back like when he was in high school, and Dean was here, did that mean his father was here too? He tried to focus on the grip of Dean's hand on his arm- staving off near panic.

When they got outside Dean's car was waiting. A classic 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Castiel sometimes dreamed of that car. He had had dreams of it pulling up in front of his apartment and rescuing him. Sometimes in his dreams he was a teenager again and him and Dean drove away, leaving together. In other dreams Dean took him in the backseat. These dreams varied as much as his other dreams. Sometimes he was a teenager and sometimes he was a grown man, and sometimes Dean was all grown up. His unconscious mind would fill in the blanks. Sometimes Dean would be slow and tender, sometimes he would be frantic and passionate, and sometimes Cas would ride him. Every time Dean would hold hims afterward and tell him how he always loved him and he cared about him more than anyone and wanted to hold him forever.

Getting into the front seat of the Impala a voice from the back pulled him from his fantasies. "Hey Cas! How are you this morning?"

Castiel looked at the familiar young boy in the back seat, same floppy brown hair, same curious eyes, same overpowering sense of loyalty. The younger Winchester was always too kind and compassionate for the lifestyle he was raised in. Even after Castiel had left and severed all ties to his childhood life, even after the fight, Sam still tried to contact him once. He had called him one night several months after the fact. In his surprise Castiel had actually answered the phone and was in the middle of reassuring the younger Winchester that he was just fine when he heard yelling from the other line and a rushed "I gotta go" from Sam before the phone was hung up. Dean had found his little brother trying to call his former best friend and had put an end to it. Castiel had never had contact with either of the Winchester brothers after that.

Castiel smiled to the younger boy now, "I am doing well, thank you Samuel."

Sam laughed and told Castiel to call him Sam, just like he did every morning when they were younger. Dean slid into the drivers seat and turned on the radio. Loud rock music drifted through the dense air, and Castiel found it to be quite peaceful. He forgot how much he missed this. Sam hollered at Dean to lower the music from the back seat and Dean ignored him in favor of turning it up. Castiel rode to school with a small smile on his face as he watched the brothers interact.

Once inside the school Castiel was surprised to know he remembered his locker combination. Dean followed him to his locker and he spun the dial, 36-13-23. For some reason he was very shocked to see the contents of his locker to be exactly the same. He didn't know why he would be shocked when everything else was also the same, but there was something about this, this unchanging force that really got to him. He found it was suddenly hard to breath, and his heart clenched. So this was really happening. The only thing that kept him from outright crying was the fact that he could tell that Dean was studying him carefully. "You ok buddy? Are you really actually sick?"

"I'm fine Dean." Castiel took a deep breath to calm himself before shifting his backpack to the front to see what books he had with him. Surprisingly it took a great deal more effort to remember what classes he actually had at this point in his life.

"Ok, I gotta go, take care of my own locker. I'll see you at lunch, kay?" Dean slapped him on the shoulder as he walked off. That's right, Cas and Dean never did have classes together because Cas was always in advanced placement and Dean was always barely passing... Castiel watched his retreating back as he walked off towards his own locker. He was wearing that leather jacket again. Cas sometimes had dreams where Dean would strip him bare and than put his own leather jacket on him and than lick every inch of his exposed skin. Castiel shivered at the thought, and realized he'd most likely just been staring off at his best friend with lust filled eyes. That fact was confirmed to him when a figure shoved him into his locker from behind.

"Drooling after your boyfriend fag?" Castiel tried to pull himself up but the boy just pushed him in again. This happened three more times before Castiel finally gave up, he hated being weak again. He heard distant laughing from behind him, most likely his tormentors friends. He couldn't remember the name of this particular bully, he had had too many to remember each of them individually, but he knew he was on the football team with Dean. He would be one of the boys involved in eventually betraying him to Dean. The thought made him set his jaw and grit his teeth. If he was only a little stronger... a little faster... he would punch this guy right here right now. Maybe than he'd think twice about his later actions. But before Castiel could even attempt to gather some hidden strength the bell rang, and the boys released Castiel to go off to their own classes.

Castiel grabbed his books and made it to his English classroom, he was relatively sure that was his first class. He found an inconspicuous seat in the back and buried his face in his hands. "Rough morning, Love?" A slimy British accent floated to his ears, and he felt a hand rubbing the back of his neck.

He snapped his head up and pushed the hand off, "Get off of me." He glared at Crowley, the devil himself that had made his senior year of high school hell.

"Oh don't be that way kitten." Crowley winked at Castiel and he felt a shiver run down his spine. Castiel really should just punch him now, save his teenage self some grief...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The titles still don't mean anything.

**Author's Note:**

> The chapter titles don't mean anything either.


End file.
